


The God We Dare Not Speak Of - Writings Collection

by zalzaires



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Original Fantasy Setting, Parent Death, probably too many elves, warnings provided on chapters when needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23211256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalzaires/pseuds/zalzaires
Summary: a multimedia story about trauma and the power of words. chapter order is chronological order, roughly, for my reference-- if something seems too weird and confusing, please skip ahead and then read back later!
Kudos: 8





	1. A TIME IMMEMORIAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allegory's origins.

A TIME IMMEMORIAL

A strange beast appears, arisen from a foregone conclusion in the words that make the world

the will for assigned meaning, the desire for fate that could be understood and accepted by a searching mind

had a little split, you could say, and the beast, As-It-Follows, was the eventual result.

It began as a unique quirk in wording, in the composite words of a simple spider.

It existed on such minor scale, at first. A kind of memetic ripple through the names of things that the spider came upon, in its tiny little life.

The mark wrote itself upon the outcomes of cause and effect with ease, for it was so, just – a little new sort of so. Like an i, dotted with a heart.

And as the spread of its influence grew, the mark developed temperament, the basics of personality

ways in which it would favor being spread, rather than not.

it was now no longer a toolmark that operated without conscious choice.

This simple bit of existential grammar, something like – ‘and so it happened, as was the only imaginable outcome’

became in itself that which decided what the only imaginable outcome was.

It became the hidden meaning behind events.

In short --

it became Allegory.

\--FIN


	2. a story about the workings of the world.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the depths of the sea there are cities and people. here's a story from there about what lies above and below.

In the depths there is the Abyss of Ink, and there is the blood of truth, the core of things: from within it _forms_ rise up into the waters above, and as they drift closer to the light they become evident, and known to the world.  
  


_Form_ was not always the truth of the world. First, truth was _stillness_ ; ink placid at its core, water in waiting. The insistent prying of light resolved into perfect gradient.

  
Ere the surface of the ocean lay calm and unmarred. It was like a thick sheet with no wrinkles, and the light shone down dazzling into the water, and slowly it died as it reached far down into the Abyss.

The creatures of these seas were clear as glass. There were no bodies or things that did not let the light through, then; truth shone through tenuous visions, as the world was still unsettled. The first words were not yet heard, though surely, they were already waiting.

But things did not stay as they were. One day, the equilibrium of these layers was disturbed, and never again would the Abyss rest solely in its depths – never again would the gleaming face of the sea lay still and restful. Great spiraling spokes of ink were drawn up, and pierced through.. and spilled out, there, into great mounds nesting upon the sea's surface, that caused ripples and next waves. A cascade of _motion_ , that from then on could never cease.

Thus after the truth of stillness, there was the truth of motion, and though these two could never, ever, coexist -- cleverly, they would find a way.

After stillness diminished and motion reigned, the world came to have for the first time 'lands.' The inks upon the surface and exposed directly to the light dried, and became dust and rock. Yet still they remain tethered to the Abyss, and in them, somewhere.. the flowing, living core. That is why every land has its own spirit and vitality, and why it did not all just one day sink back down.

Those tethers are still to be found today. They whorl lazily in the ocean, but you should never touch them. To touch 'true meaning' is to be twisted into something 'More' than what you were.

A soul stirred so will never easily rest.

So, 'land' is a scab upon the face of the sea, and if you are to pry too deeply upon it, dark blood will well up surely. The truth of _stillness_ and _motion_ have worked together, now, to create the truth of _forms._


	3. Nothing More, Nothing Less | Avess Ulz, Avess Ot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings:
> 
> \- this story contains a lot of metaphorical language and actions meant to read as an adult grooming a child, in particular the situation of an adult character asking to be given an item strongly associated with a puberty rite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or, where the trouble all began(?).

([theme: Come Along](https://youtu.be/bIyl9bCp6W4))

In the village Aldua'denac, deep within the Skittering Wood, there is a certain rite of passage undertaken by all young elves approaching adulthood - before the eve of the adolescent child's 70th birthday, they are called to create the very best bow they can - using only tools in their personal possession, and from materials gathered alone. Thus prepared, they will undergo a final, secret trial - the _Ylthuun-aut'torr_.  
  
  
When it came time for Rennuid Tathviel to make his bow, he was nervous. He was the youngest child of four, and his older siblings' creations had set a high bar he doubted he could live up to. If he couldn't make something impressive on skill alone, then.. perhaps, Rennuid reasoned, he could still impress by crafting the bow out of something unique and unusual?  
  
  
What better place to look for something that hadn't been seen before than a place where no one goes? Mind made already, Rennuid just so happened to overhear a discussion between two villagers; one woman swearing to another that a copse of strange trees rested in the shadow of an abandoned ruin in the far, far reaches of the Wood.

How fortuitous **,** wasn't it? Perhaps even fateful.

  
  
The forbidden wood wasn't even all that foreboding. In fact, he found it peaceful - quiet, calming.. more beautiful in many ways than the more well-trod parts of the forest. He met with no danger on his journey to the ruin.  
  
There, in the shadow of a small, overgrown temple resting atop a hill, were the strange, twisted trees. He had found Gorfuin'taenac. But as he gathered what he would need to make his bow, a voice rang out over the peaceful murmurs of the wood.  
  
  
 **`“To cut a body's veins. To rend a body's skin. To drain a body's essence. Is this the form, now, where language lives? No longer, now, to poison the air. Oh, to poison the air... Do you hear me, presumptuous one? Do you speak?”`  
  
**

This was how Rennuid and his future god first met.  
  
Of course, he was frightened.  
Of course, he was curious.  
One won out over another, and he approached the voice’s source - the temple on the hill. But he didn’t yet dare to climb the stairs leading to the temple’s open mouth.

  
  
The voice explained: it _owned_ those trees. Indeed, they were as dear to it as the fingers on Rennuid’s own hands were to him. In exchange for the damage he had already caused, it wanted payment.  
  
  
 **`“You will be allowed to take what you have harvested, penitent one. All I ask is your name; nothing more, nothing less. Speak it now, and you are forgiven.”  
`**  
  
Rennuid spoke his name, and left shortly with what he’d already cut, as per their promise. Though the wood was of an excellent quality for bowmaking, it seemed to fight being used - soon he had nothing but unusable slivers, as time and again it split in his hands. So the next morning, Rennuid returned to Gorfuin'taenac.  
  
  
There he found the tree he cut whole and hale, as if he had never been there in the first place. Rennuid stood at the bottom of the temple stair, and called out a greeting to the voice.  
  
  
The first time, it did not answer. Rennuid climbed the first step.  
  
The second time, it did not answer. Rennuid climbed the second step.  
  
But then, on his third call -  
  
  
 **`“Greetings, beseeching one. I name you, as Rennuid Tathviel. But why have you returned?”  
`**

Previously, he had not explained why he needed the wood from the tree. Now, he explained - and it seemed his purpose caught the voice’s intrigue.  
  
  
 **`“You will be allowed to harvest all you desire. But when the bow is made, you must return here, with your creation in hand. Nothing more, nothing less.”  
`**  
  
Perhaps he took more than needed, given permission to excess - but once more, Rennuid returned home, and began working on the bow. This time, the wood was pliant - perhaps you could even call it eager! - and the result was as wonderful and strange and new as he had hoped. But when he tried to string it, every bowstring snapped. It didn’t seem to matter how strong the string he used - the wood simply would not bear it.  
  
  
For a third time, Rennuid went to Gorfuin'taenac. This time, he found the tree he had cut had remained so -- moreover, it had died. And, as his bow was not yet complete, he thought not to bring it. Remembering how he had gone at first unheard, he went up to the third step, and called out.  
  
But there was no answer. Rennuid climbed to the fourth step.  
  
No answer, again. Rennuid climbed to the fifth step, called out - and the voice did answer.  
  
  
 **`“I name you as Rennuid. But where is the bow, as you promised?”  
`**  
  
He explained that the bow was strong, and beautiful - but he could not complete it, for the wood was _so_ strong, it snapped every string, and he did not know what to do. And, as the trees belonged to the voice, perhaps it knew what he might be able to use? He hadn’t wanted to return empty handed, but he was swiftly running out of time before the bow needed to be complete, for the sake of the sacred rite that required it.  
  
  
 **`“Spider’s silk, pleading one. The body from which you fed is now a corpse. In that corpse, there rests your source. Trust me now, and reach into its hollow side.”  
`**  
  
Rennuid did as told, reaching into the hollow tree - why stop now, when the voice had, truly, done nothing but help? - and withdrew his hand. A large spider rested on the back, calm as you please.  
  
  
 **`“Keep it secret, keep it safe. Return home, and sleep. In the morning, you will be able to perform your rite. Then you will bring your bow to me.”  
`**

So it went, as the voice had said - Rennuid returned home to Aldua’denac, with the spider hidden in his clothing. He made certain no one saw it - difficult, in a home shared with his mother and two sisters - but he managed. When he woke in the morning and checked on his bow, indeed, it was strung with a gleaming silver thread. The spider was nowhere to be found.

And so the rite was undertaken, and the bow was indeed to be found as wonderful and strange as its creator had dreamed. Such deep, twisted gnarls in the wood.. One could not help but be drawn in by the sight of it.  
  


When all eyes had finally turned from him, Rennuid took his chance and slipped away, bow in hand. As he traversed a path that had by now become familiar to him, the hour grew late. In the past, he’d always managed to return to Aldua’denac before the forest had grown lightless… his past fortune had made him grow bold.

Perhaps the most tragic part of this story yet is that nothing happened to stop him, as Rennuid retread his steps to Gorfuin’taenac. Though the forest grew dark, the light of the moon shone down on silvery threads. Though the sounds of the forbidden wood grew closer and more foreboding in the gloom, no other living thing crossed his path. Though he couldn’t clearly see the reaching branches, the brambles he normally would have had to weave around with care -- nothing, absolutely nothing impeded him.  
His heart fluttered nonetheless.

  
The temple on the hill seemed like a beacon, when it finally came into view. Rennuid climbed the stairs, free of hesitation -- the temple was familiar. It, and its mysterious inhabitant - assuredly safe. He passed the fifth stair with nary a thought.  
When he came to the top of the stairs, to the open mouth of the temple, he stopped. He was now again unsure of himself - the darkness inside seemed greater, in some way, than he had expected.  
  


He called out, _“I returned home and slept, and come morning, the bow was ready.”  
  
“In the afternoon I shot an arrow into the great vine that bears my family’s name. The bow shot as true as any I have ever seen.”  
  
“Now, in the night, I am here, to fulfill my part of our promise.”  
_  
  
Rennuid had thought to simply lay the bow at the temple’s mouth and retreat -- it seemed the most respectful way of things, to not pry to know more of the strange, wonderful being living in the forgotten temple than was strictly offered. But in the darkness, he could see something begin to stir.  
  


In the cold, early hours of the morning, Rennuid came home.


	4. Rennuid Tathviel -- Early Biography

The youngest of four children, Rennuid Tathviel often felt he had a lot to live up to, to show himself as a worthy person to match his elder siblings. That is why he placed a terrible importance on the rite that would mark his passage into -- _physical, only, mind you now_ \-- adulthood, the _[Ylthuun-Aut'torr](http://i.imgur.com/reM0F3H.png)_. He went to great lengths to create a bow for the rite, that would be unmatched by any other - though he did not go entirely unaided in his endeavor.  
  
Shortly after his 70th birthday -- which, for the less long-lived, marked him solidly as a teenager -- on the ancient founding day of the Tathviel clan, Rennuid Tathviel performed the _Ylthuun-Aut'torr_ and was met by a wave of susurration from the audience...

...For the secret kept from those who had yet to perform the rite was that when a true heir of the clan fired an arrow into the ancient _Uunbanthe'adai_ tied to their name, they would suffer a phantom pain to match that felt by the living vine. And Rennuid? Why - he hadn't even flinched!  
  
His mother, Vaerdet, approached him. "Rennuid, dear. You don't have to act so strong. It's fine to show you're hurting." The plea in her voice was terrifying - and telling. He hadn't known the secret of the rite. And he hadn't felt any pain at all. But Rennuid was clever - though as would become evident later, perhaps not terribly wise. He bit his tongue, and smiled at his mother - showing blood covered teeth to the many murmuring adults. Many of the whispers were satiated, and a proper celebration ensued.  
  
Of course.. many does not mean _all_.  
  
The secret to why Rennuid went unharmed - he knew not at the time, but he was protected - for the strange presence that had guided him in the crafting of his bow had seen the nature of the rite, and knew that if Rennuid suffered the pain inherent, he would not be able to keep his promise: to bring the bow to the temple where they had met. For their bow was magnificent indeed - and where no other arrow had done so before, had pierced to the flowing heart of the _Uunbanthe'adai_.  
  
Rennuid's arrow had tapped into his family's lifeblood... who knows what might have happened, had the vine's vengeance struck home?  
  
Rennuid, that night, brought the bow to the temple where he had, twice prior, met with the strange presence. For the first time, he climbed to the top of the stairs leading to the temple's mouth -- and there, finally beheld the physical form of his benefactor.  
  
It gave him a gift, after accepting his bow - a trinket, really, made from four eyes it plucked from its very own mouth. It told him to wear it as he pleased - but only here, at its temple, or only when alone.  
  
By his 80th birthday, Rennuid's hair seemed... darker, didn't it? Perhaps... it's a mere trick of the light. A strangeness had settled upon him, though not one anyone could name... but isn't that normal, in itself? For one to change and even grow awkward, as they truly come into themselves?  
  
By his 90th birthday, it was a gamble where you would find him on a given night - sleeping safe at home, or gone again, on another sojourn into the depths of the forest. He hair was well past a cloudy day's gray. It was something of a more foreboding stormcloud, now...  
  
Some precious little time after his 100th birthday, after which is when an elf may truly be called an adult... Rennuid came home for the first time in over a week, declared that he had found a lost god - and been named as its new priest.  
  
It was understandable, wasn't it, that he'd be living at his god's temple now, instead? It would be a hindrance to have to make the journey all the way from Aldua'denac every time he had a duty to attend.  
  
Now,

Finally,

he openly wore a hairpin adorned with four -- orbs? They weren't jewels, surely -- and his hair was as black as the depths between stars.


	5. alternate worlds #1

_**ALTERNATE WORLDS...** _

\- -- When Fate Deferred -- -

[(theme: Nightingale Part 1)](https://youtu.be/ZPtXDLaCSao)

_**At the mouth of gloomy Gorfuin, the youth presented the bow he had so carefully created with the help of the ancient entity that dwelled within.** _

_**As it beheld the bow...** _

_**...It realized, sickened, the meaning within the simple weapon.** _

_**"It's a beautiful piece," it said, and returned it, carefully, to its rightful owner.** _


	6. how was the world around us made?

([theme: Owl Song](https://youtu.be/TRUQsZQU60k))

_“ **A** llegory, I’ve wondered.. how was the world around us made?”_

The cluster of eyes at the edge of its mouth turned murky with thought, and it drew back from him, slowly, wavering through the chamber’s still air. `“In moments,”` it finally answered. `“And instants, and inches. One, merciless upon last, over and again.”`

“Were they all yours?”

Now that was a question. `“All are mine in meaning,”` it gloated. `“All but the first, at first. Now, as it is, buried under all the after.. so too it is mine, for it is why what is next.”`

The boy fell silent. It wobbled close again, curious; brought its head close to the boy’s chest, to look in the eye a down-turned face. Was met with a small hand gripping softly to it, as if it were a wandering pet the boy was trying gently to keep in place. Permitted this.

“..so, without you, it really wouldn’t mean anything at all,” he whispered. It was always interesting watching Rennuid find for himself an epiphany like this. He would make himself very small, and never look you in the eye, while he chased to the ends of his thoughts – as if he felt them to be within some delicate glass apparatus, and if he left them for others’ view too freely, the workings would surely come to break.

It was not being asked a question. It did not see fit to answer.


	7. night faded, and became dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY some warnings for this one
> 
> \- implications of ongoing CSA, like right at the outset.  
> \- familial abuse, particularly emotional/verbal  
> \- brief allusions to suicide/parent death
> 
> this takes place during rennuid's childhood.

[(theme: Solar)](https://youtu.be/Wsgjbsh5ZUs)

In evenings, the world was theirs. More and more he wanted to borrow extra time. Once, though, he borrowed too much.

That evening it said, `“There is something new I could teach you of the expression of love."`

Night faded, and became dawn; his bed at home lay empty and unused.  
  


He found himself, after a time, at the top of the weathered stone staircase leading down to the hollow, where – diffuse, in the fog of the early day – he could see lights on in the inhabited house. The sight struck him to the spot. If it were Viromil, and she caught him creeping back inside, the fallout would be miserable. If it were his mother... he wasn't sure what she would do.  
  


Perhaps it would be better to sit out here, by the door, and practice at whittling something. Though it was absurd, the idea seized him completely - he could lie with ease, once someone poked their nose out, and say they must have missed him when he came outside. And from there he would be able to listen in on the goings-on inside, and better prepare for any upcoming ugliness. Steeling his nerve, he advanced down the stairs at a reluctant pace.  
  


He was able to creep up near to the door, set his back against the wall, took out his knife – and realized he had nothing to actually whittle. Everything out here was too bloated from the night air, and what wasn't would make a horrendous racket if he cracked it into usable size. Instead he put the knife away, laid his head back, and listened.

He could hear two familiar voices, though the words were muffled nonsense. Neither sounded particularly spirited, which felt like a good sign. He could almost make out some of it. _“Tsudsas fer cu avess ulz, tyymab”_ – he supposed they were eating breakfast.  
  
  


The cold was starting to leech into his body, now that he'd stopped moving. He flexed his fingers, then blew on them to try and banish some of the clumsiness. It would be nice right now if he'd stayed at Gorfuin. The temple was drafty, but there was this one room – it had a dais which they'd covered in furs and blankets, and over it towered a relief depicting Allegory itself. It was pleasant, to simply lay there on his back, running his eyes over the lines of the relief, while the real thing lay around him in loose coils.

  
Leaving that warm nest behind to trudge his way here was a trial. Now that the part that should have been hardest was over, still, he dithered. If they were already eating, Viromil would have checked in on his room and found it empty a good while ago – the usual excuses would be useless. A harsh knot of tension bound itself up in his throat, as it dawned on him that this wasn't a matter of getting caught or not, but of what the inevitable repercussions were going to be. The excitement of the wonderful and strange new thing he had experienced had congealed into a fresh anxiety.  
  


The more he stalled and stewed and shuddered for the cold, the wilder became his thoughts of what would happen, and what he'd be willing to do to avoid it. Maybe he'd hide, wait for his family to leave, slip inside through a window – then, he'd lock himself in his room, and – no, no, no. None of that was going to help. He had to go inside, and that was all he _should_ do.   
  


He reached into the pocket where he kept hidden Allegory's first gift, feeling on his fingertips the cold, smooth gems that had once been, a year ago, four of the god's very own eyes. He told himself, firmly: _I don't regret this. I don't care what happens, it was worth it._

...When he pulled on the handle of the door, it was locked. So he knocked, and the inside of the house fell deathly quiet.

*  
  


The next time he was able to steal himself away through the woods to the sacred ruin, it was over a month hence. His mother had made reasons to need him whenever she saw him making to leave, and, well... It was hard to turn down an opportunity to have her attention, even if it was from an obvious ulterior motive. At least she was nice about it. Viromil was... not so.  
  


She'd tug his hair from across the room with magic when he got too close to the door, or snap her fingers and set off a brief, dazzling lash of sparks in front of his face when he'd gaze too wistfully out the window. Little things like that. It wasn't that he wasn't _allowed_ to leave, or that he was unable to get around them – but the clear message was that he shouldn't. He'd tried saying things like, “Oh, do we need so-and-so? Would you like me to go get it?” – but that always either earned him a no, or an escort. Whenever it grew too much, he reminded himself: they couldn't keep up with this forever. Soon enough, boredom would outweigh the ability to keep caring about what he was up to, as raw worry turned to a more minor soreness.

When he came inside after 'going missing,' mother had wrapped him up in a hug seconds before he processed that her eyes were red and puffy, that Viromil, sitting at the table, held a cloth wrung into a wrinkled rope – there was a strong twinge of guilt that he shoved away. _It's worth it, it's worth it_. It became easier to believe, when Viromil got him alone, later, and the first words out of her mouth were –   
  


“So, is your plan to keep running off in the night 'til you die like dad?”

An ugly part of him wanted to tell her that, no, he didn't plan on dying like their father, because _everyone_ knew it wasn't an accident that took him. What he did do was hold his tongue, shake his head, and give very contrite one-word answers to everything that sounded like a question. On the list of 'worst things to say to your angry sister,' confessing you believed the rumors your late father wanted to die was _rather_ high up there. Eventually she ran out of fresh ways to state her anger, and left him, seeming even more agitated than when she'd began.  
  


He had Llmedha to thank for giving him the chance to next slip away. She came home for a while, a rare visit – she had a job at a watermill, in another town some days' walk off west from Aldua'denac. He couldn't leave immediately. In fact, it seemed at first it would be much more difficult – the demand that they all be together _as a family_ was great, and in its urgency made any absences emphasized.  
  


What helped about Llmedha is that she would stride right through the invisible nets cast out for him. He didn't take the first, or even fifth chance presented – rather, he tested at the distance he was slowly again afforded, and then one morning Llmedha asked if he wanted to go with her to get out of the house.  
  


He didn't say _please_. But they left quickly upon her suggestion. It wasn't until after scaling the stairs leading up and out of the hollow that he afforded himself a deep, bracing gulp of air, and a tentative, “Thanks.”

“Why are they acting like that?” was all she said.

“Mil's always like that,” he groused, and she didn't argue. “I got home late once. That's it. I wouldn't have done it if I knew it'd become such a _big deal_.” A lie. “I can't stand sitting around all day like this. I'm not a baby. It's like--”

He kicked at a rock, and it rocketed off harsher than he'd meant it to. There was a rustle of offended leaves.

“--It's just-- I'm not trying to upset them. But it's like I can't even breathe right without being _bad_.”

“You're not bad,” a swift answer. “Yeah, I mean – I'd have cabin fever too. Why do you think I got the job at the mill?”

“'Cuz of your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, okay.” Llmedha sighed. “Should I say something?”

He bit his lip. It was hard for him to imagine how that could help, really – and easy to picture how it would go if it didn't. “No. I'd rather you didn't.”

He _wanted_ to go Gorfuin again. Even if it was only for an hour – he was so afraid that it would think he decided to just leave it and never come back. Especially right after last time.

“..Could you just.. let me go, for a little while? And I'll come back and we can say we went to town, or something. I just need to be alone and then I can catch my breath. If I do that I'll be okay.”

Llmedha didn't say anything, and he was ready to be disappointed - but then her arm was around his shoulders, and he was getting squeezed in a sidelong hug. “Sure. I'll meet you at the circle in town? If you don't see me when you get there, just wait.”

Llmeda, like a knife cutting him off a leash. Rennuid felt sort of, light and tired and excited at once. “I can do that.”  
  


...

Light faded, and became evening. Llmedha next saw her younger brother wearing a wide smile and a spry step. And so – she felt, she'd done something good, today.


	9. a story told by old bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the character listening to the bones is my partner Kara's, his name is Czecile! He has a power to hear the voices of the dead.

[(theme: Cuckoo)](https://youtu.be/EzX4PX31Ivc)

~ A story about Vaerdet Dolvmeer and Mirhosa Tathviel, during a time of war between Carsigan and the Skittering Wood. ~

...As told from the perspective of old bones in the forest.

_My name is Czecile. I have a friend of many years, who guided me, though he did not realize it, I think, to a place in the woods... here I met a scattered body of lonely bones._

_It was a man my friend had killed, many years ago. When he was but a boy._

**There's an old water tower a few miles from here.**

**...That's where they ambushed us.**

****

I was separated from my compatriots in the chaos..

I'd taken a heavy **wound** , I was-- lashed open, by a wild, thorned vine. I was losing blood, but I thought...

**Maybe, if I could just make it back to our camp.**

**Maybe, if I could do only that,**

**I could warn everyone else about the _terrors_ haunting the water tower...**

_**There were... only two, I think. Just two, and ten of us...** _

****

**That wraith, in the guise of a youth...!**

**I couldn't clearly see his face, but his clothes were ragged, and those ears, like horns, marked him as our enemy.**

****

**..the young woman who led us into his clutches...**

**She lured us straight to our dooms! If only we'd seen more clearly, her feathered ears, that silvery hair...**

**But it was twilight.**

**It was too dim,**

**and our throats were parched...**

****

.. It was morning when they found me.

Step after step, I forced myself onward, but finally, my body failed me. My strength faltered, and so,

I crawled.

When I could no longer manage even that...

 **He** appeared once more.

He spoke to me. But... I just, can't remember--

\-- **No, I was far too frightened to understand, as again the thorns closed in-- -**

_**Then,** _

****

**like a child's doll**

**in a too-strong grip,**

**my body was**

**pulled apart by an**

**unfathomable force.**

...two bright young students of the late magician were trapped alone in the woods in the midst of the conflict. Amazingly, they survived to be heralded home as heroes.


	9. A TIME IMMEMORIAL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introspective prose. pov is Apocrypha, Rennuid's facet, who isn't always a salient entity in every continuity, but when he is, he's mad about, like, stuff and things.

[(theme: Bittern)](https://youtu.be/b83LryMe7s4)

On the first moments of creation. A revelation catalyzes; apocrypha results.

-

Abruptly he feels as if coming awake.

He finds himself in the position of a man flayed to his core, collapsed forward onto his knees into a bow of prayer - when his head clears a moment. Emptied of feelings, he’s acutely aware of the growing pain in his head, the filthy sensation of hair sticking to a face gone heated and puffy -

His knuckles hurt, where’d he’d clasped his hands so tightly, tightly together. Funny thing to do to himself. As if the strength of his grip might be enough to hold in the slipping phantom of normalcy! His breath is coming in rasps - oh, of course his throat had gone _phlegmy_.

How…

...Disgusting.

The revulsion floods him much like the sobs had - a wave of nausea where before, a wave of weakness, so harsh then as to pull him down to the floor - pulls him upwards, to his feet, brushing furiously at his clothes to smooth the disarray, scrubbing at his face with a vicious amount of force - amid it he questions: _why am I so angry?_

_Who_ am I angry at?

(It _wasn’t_ himself.)

A table is swept clean in one careless, clattering motion. A window is thrown open to let in a dazzling buffet of rain.


	10. I knew him as the fair.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rennuid tathviel, first person poem. reflections on his friend, GllChk the Fair, and rennuid's complex feelings towards him.

I knew him as the Fair.

It is fair to say, to him I owed my life  
for the life I knew before him died the day he came.  
Though a killing he did not intend, indeed -- t’was but a consequence  
of it, as it had come before --  
of It, as It had come before.  
I cannot tell Its name, though well engraved upon my mind  
I dare not say. For there, Its body lies.  
For there, Its body lay  
that day I died.  
  


I called him Fair, the day we met  
and to this day still do  
for that remains the truth.  
As is said, a life, once taken --  
then, belongs to its taker.  
(and so he says, a life you’ve saved  
makes you now then the shepherd.)  
  


But perhaps, my life was taken  
far before a Fair knight stood  
upon the bottom stair, as I  
once would.  
  
And in Its eyes,  
and in all fairness,

I made my promise.

A life was taken on that day,  
either way.


	11. I Wondered If He Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short comic, set shortly into the journeys of GllChk the Fair and his new companion, the youthful ex-priest, Rennuid.
> 
> Rennuid thinks about words, their weight, and what can remain unsaid in the face of implication. And he learns something new about his friend.
> 
> Warning for spiders, implications of grooming & abuse.

**I kept wondering if GllChk knew. He had to, right?**

****

**The things it had said to me, in front of him. The things _I_ had said, before.**

**The truth waited in the air always clouding my thoughts.**

****

_"Sorry. i'm uh just out of it, today."_

**Yet I was afraid to even mention it.**

****

****

_"I'll try not to fall behind again."_

_"Take your time if you need it."_

**So I kept my thoughts to myself.**

****

**It became like a _dance._ Inexorably, the words would draw closer to voice, welling up to the back of my teeth. Desperate, to meet the air.**

**Inevitably, I would fall back, the trepidation a vice on my throat. My courage - or audacity, as I felt it to be - would all drawn away. Until the next time.**

****

**Of course, not everything I bit back were things that ever ought to be said. I had some _bad_ days.**

****

**Days I would awaken from terrible, prosaic dreams, made of muddled memories..**

****

**..days where the first words boiling on my tongue were, "Why?"**

_"Oh! good morning."_

__

**"Why couldn't you leave us alone?"**

**The two of us, we were happy.**

****

**In those weak moments, on those _bad_ days, what I wanted back was the sanctity of the lie.**

****

**Finally, on those bad days, I found that I yearned for him to KNOW more than ever.**

_"Today the weather seems like it will be nice."_

_"Mm."_

**What I craved, then, was not so much air, but.. for GllChk to understand _exactly_ what he had taken from me. A sort of revenge, I suppose.**

****

**Still I remained resolute in my silence,**

**though always I watched for a sign- any sign-**

**that maybe he was aware.**

****

**And even my vengeful moods don't tend to last, because GllChk - he's a hard person to just hate like that.**

_"rennuid - you good?"_

_"Yeah-- No. I think I have a stitch."_

_"Then let's stop a while."_

_"Oh. I drank it all already."_

__

_"What are you reading, by the way? I've seen that one in your hand a few times."_

_"Well... it's a storybook."_

__

_"It's the sort one tells to a child... some stories I grew up with."_

__

_"Oh. That's pleasant."_

_"Hehah. Not what you expected?"_

_"No."_

__

_"You're candid today!"_

_"Ah,"_

_"Don't worry. I like it."_

**He said things like that all the time.**

****

_"What did you think it was?"_

_"um. I know the script, but not the words... I'm not sure what I expected."_

_"Well.. it's always been my dream."_

__

_"In the stories, I wanted to see what was true, and what was still left."_

__

_"That urge is what drives me. It wasn't so simple, getting this far.. ..But my journeys now are the result-- far away from home, chasing faerie tales, old bones... this book, it's how I decided where to go next."_

__

_"So our mysterious destinations..."_

_"Are my old bedtime stories, yes."_

_"That's charming, honestly."_

__

**But when I thought a little deeper, I realized what else that meant.**

****

_"Hey, GllChk. In your book, uh.. Are there stories about **it**?"_

__

**I knew that there had to be. How else would he have found us?**

****

**How else could he have known, even from our first meeting, that something was _wrong?_**

****

**He stared down at his precious book for what felt like an eternity. Until finally he said,**

_"Yes. There are a few."_

__

_"..I could read one, if that's what you'd want."_

_"No. **Don't.** "_

__

**The warm sunshine, now, felt entirely _stifling_.**

_"I guess I only want to know one thing."_

**I couldn't suppress the question most heavy on my mind.**

****

**_"was there"_ **

**__ **

**_"was there anyone else like me?"_ **


	12. R.T.'s journal - prelude to 'Visit to Hallowmark Keep'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few entries from rennuid's journal, set right before my current WIP comic story, 'Visit to Hallowmark Keep'!

[(theme: Run Rings Right Wrongs)](https://youtu.be/k_Xcripw7hw)

**In a journal signed** _R.T._

GllChk and I arrived at the village in the afternoon. The sun is strange here, in the rocky, coastal mountains. Never have I felt winds so biting. And it makes me nervous, to see so open and blue the sky! The bright pulse of it hurts my eyes.

In the morning we saw mist, and that brought me some small sense of ease. I should not crave home so, with my privilege to it well forfeited. Still I yearn for the familiar.  
  


The caress of cool, humid air.

The tease of gentle wind at cloth and skin.

The hiss of dancing leaves, and

I am a liar. I am a liar. _I am a liar._ When I think about what I miss, it is isn’t the way the _forest_ spoke. It isn’t the way the _air_ lay upon me. It isn’t the way the loose earth smelled, or how the trees dove playfully out from the fog when you drew close to them, or how the _grass_ clung and scratched as you twisted in its grasp.

I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to see home, at all. I ran, didn’t I? I ran right away, without ever showing my face. It seems to me it isn’t home I miss, it’s ** **█****

stupid. don’t write the name. What will you do if you invoke it? What will you do if you gave back its strength? How could you ever explain that to him?

I get to sleep in a proper bed tonight, so I look forward to that. I’ve never slept in a human-made bed, but I’ve seen pictures, and some of them even look rather nice! I haven’t seen the one I’m going to be in yet, of course, but I am choosing to practice optimism as a conscious act!

* * *

**In a journal signed** _R.T._

My optimism about the bed was misplaced.

Just woke up. Dreamed, again. Slept poorly, kept waking and tossed then slept again, retreading the same dreams. I was deep in the ocean, and I was leading a parade. My brother was there, wearing seashells? My skin was itching, and I think I felt blood when I tried to scratch it away, so I stopped. You know, when you’ve torn yourself up too much already, and you have to leave it alone? It wasn’t something serious, it felt more like that.

So. I led a parade. I kept waking up before I could finish leading our circuit, so I was irritated. My brother kept trying to interrupt, so I ignored him, but it didn’t feel good to do so at all. I would try to bring my eyes back on him, but they would just slide away. Some other things happened, I think. It was quite thoroughly a night’s dream that refused to be banished.

Dreams aside. Today GllChk and I will get to know the village of Shepshead. A terrifically boring name. I asked GllChk what it meant, and he said he thinks it’s to do with the local herding traditions.

Sooooo Excitedddd

-(‘ - ‘ )-

* * *

 ****In a journal signed** ** _R.T._

_-(“ _ “)- ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?_

oh this place huh it is

this place is not right.

More to follow? We are working on it

I would rather spend time figuring out what to do than writing right now SORRY SORRY LOVE N KISSES JOURNAL

* * *

 ****In a journal signed** ** _R.T._

 ~~ _S_~~ ~~ _OWHAT_~~ So what happened yesterday is that we noticed, newly rested, that no one in the town actually had faces. I do not understand, exactly, how we both missed that. I did not think I was THAT tired, but I suppose I did not actually talk to any of the humans myself, and GllChk does have that clunky bucket of a helmet he wears. So I SUPPOSE I could MAYBE understand such a mistake happening but – but! But! Good GRIEF! No faces! Not a one!

Besides the total lack of nose, eyes, ears, mouths, eyelashes, tongues, pupils, corneas, teeth, lips, eyebrows, nostrils _, et cetera,_ they are fine and friendly ~~pupil.~~ people. I have not heard a single unkind or unwelcoming word from them, and neither has GllChk.

We didn’t figure it out right away, of course. We had scampered all over town looking for someone with a face to no avail. I was talking to GllChk about what we should do, then he saw someone walking by with a wicker basket of their shopping. He told me suddenly he had an idea.

His idea was stopping that person and asking them why they didn’t have a face. I felt like I would scream! They laughed like he was telling an off-color joke. Then they said something hahahaHAhaha let’s say I _deeply disliked!_

“Everyone who visits always says that. But don’t worry about it. If you stay here long enough, your eyes will adjust eventually.”

What does that mean! What is that! I HATE THAT

We stayed, of course, because we have to solve whatever terrible horrible unseemly awful thing is going on here, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I couldn’t calm down at all yesterday, so I’m writing this in the morning after sleeping on it while we sit and eat some nice warm food the nice faceless people sold us.

I wish our investigation (and our FACES! why yes I would like so very much to keep those!) the best of luck…?!

* * *

 ****I** **n a journal signed** ** _R.T._

we’re getting something. Somewhere. Well. it’s going. Sorry. I don't really want to write about it all that much. There are some things about this place that make me terribly sad. Like reading a single chapter of an unfinished story, over and over and over again, hoping your eyes could make it all come alive again, somehow.

* * *

 ****In a journal signed** ** _R.T._

Today I sat down for lunch with GllChk at a little restaurant that was built like a bridge, spanning the rift between one cliff and another. It had a veranda with some tables, and out there is where we sat. It was annoyingly breezy, but fine enough. I’ve eaten under worse circumstance, and I prefer eating with GllChk to without him, and most doors here are too small for him to go inside.

We were near the railing, and GllChk kept leaning over it, peering at the maw in the land right below us. I could see bits of broken things and blown-away detritus, on the slope, and at the deepest point a lush thicket where the water rested. I thought about asking him what he saw that kept capturing his attention, but then a person approached us and I forgot everything else on my mind.

What was so special about this person is that she had a face.

-( O = O )- !!!!!!

She had a green dress, and introduced herself as the uh I don’t actually remember what this word was or what it meant’s wife. Someone important. We talked about the town and what was WRONG with it and I have to admit I missed a lot because I was cold and I was hungry and the faceless man carrying our food came along eventually and it was something I had never had before and it was blessedly piping hot.

The short of it is we know where the lord of this land lives now, and we will have a lot to say to him about the situation in his holdings.

I am writing all this as GllChk gets ready to travel (he wasn’t wearing his armor around town, and it takes a long while to put on. I never suspected just how much work goes into armor before meeting him!).

Probably there’s going to be a fight! It’s been a while, I should do some stretches and practice my cast and bolt stances. Hahahah! Oh, of course I hope we don’t have to kill a man today, but it’s a little romantic, isn’t it? A knight and a sorcerer storm the keep of a wicked mar ~~y~~... A M ~~arr.~~

A wicked ruler.

My pulse is pounding, but not in fear. I have ample confidence in us both. Lonely men hiding away in strange old buildings rarely present as much a challenge to the world as they believe they will.

* * *

**In a journal signed** _R.T._

The journal entry from yesterday is of events I no longer remember.

GllChk seems not to remember, either. I am trying to decide what I will do about this.

The memories I have of yesterday end when we learned the location of the marquis, which of course I did not think to write down. Apparently, we left the town to find him.

Whatever could have happened? Everything seems so calm that it's eerie. Our bodies bear no evident damage. It is only our minds that are impaired...

Well. Perhaps it's merely only my mind that is impaired, after all. I still remember a bit of the woman we met.. an old human woman with a face. I think I shall begin by finding her.


	13. Visit to Hallowmark Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 1 of the comic, up to page 16. probably this will be about 35-40 pages?

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16


	14. Visit to Hallowmark Keep part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pages 17 to 28.

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28


	15. a bundle of papers

A bundle of papers, belonging to Aesaelion’s mother.

Contents, I:

_A heavily weathered and stained paper. It seems to be an old school assignment, ungraded, written (and drawn) on wide-ruled paper made for the clumsy hands of children._

Tʜᴇ DAʏ I Mᴇᴛ Mʏ GʀᴇAᴛAᴜɴᴛ

  
ʙʏ A ** ~~XXXXXX~~** TAᴛʜᴠɪᴇʟ, AGᴇ **~~XX~~**

TᴇAᴄʜᴇʀ Mɪss KAʏ

Sᴛᴜᴅᴇɴᴛ Gʀᴏᴜᴘ: Pɪɴᴋ Kɪᴛᴇɴ

  
Aᴜɴᴛɪᴇ YʟᴍA ᴄAᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠɪsɪᴛ. DAᴅ ᴍAᴅᴇ A FAᴄᴇ ( : [ ) ᴀᴛ Mᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴇɴ sʜᴇ sAɪᴅ ʜɪs Aᴜɴᴛɪᴇ

ᴡAs Aᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀ Aɴᴅ ᴡAɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ sAʏ ʜᴇʟᴏ. Sʜᴇ sAᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴘʟAʏɪɴG ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғʟᴏᴏʀ ᴡɪᴛʜᴍʏ ᴛᴏʏ

ᴅʀAGᴏɴ Aɴᴅ sAᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴍʏ ᴘAʀᴇɴᴛs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛAʟᴋɪɴG. I ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴍʏ ᴅʀAGᴏɴs

ɴAᴍᴇ ɪs BLAZE ᴡʜɪᴄʜ I ᴡAs ʟʏɪɴɢ. ʙᴇᴄAᴜsᴇ ʏᴇsᴛᴇʀᴅAʏ I ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ʜɪs ɴAᴍᴇ ᴡAs BITEY

ʙᴜᴛ Mᴏᴍ sAɪᴅ ᴛʜAᴛ ɴAᴍᴇ Is ᴛᴏᴏ MᴇAɴ sᴏ sʜᴇ sAɪᴅ I sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴄʜAɴGᴇ ɪᴛ. Bᴜᴛ ʜɪs ɴAᴍᴇ ɪs

sᴛɪʟʟ ʙɪᴛᴇʏ sᴏ I ʟɪᴇᴅ Aᴜɴᴛɪᴇ YʟɴA sAɪᴅ sʜᴇ ʜAs ᴡAɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ʏᴇʀs & ʏᴇʀs Aɴᴅ ɪs

SO HAPPY (:D) ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴍᴇ! Sʜᴇ sAɪᴅ Sᴏʀʏ sʜᴇ ᴄᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʙᴇᴄAᴜs sʜᴇ ɪs A ᴠᴇʀʏ

ʙᴜsʏ ʟAᴅʏ ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ sʜᴇ ʜAs ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ sᴇᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴᴠ Aɴʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ I ᴡAɴᴛ! Sʜᴇ sAɪᴅ sʜᴇ

ʜᴀs Aɴ Aᴘʀᴇɴɴɪsᴇᴡʜᴏ I ᴄAɴ ʙ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ . Aɴᴅ sʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛɪᴍ ᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴍᴇ.

Wʜᴇɴ Aᴜɴᴛɪᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ DAᴅ sAɪᴅ ᴡᴇ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ Gᴏ ᴏɴ A Tʀɪᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ᴍᴏᴍ sᴀɪᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴛ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ

ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍᴏɴᴇʏ. Bᴜᴛ ᴅᴀᴅ sᴀᴅ WE ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ. Sᴏ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ GᴏɪɴG sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ!

I ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ I ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ sᴇᴀ sʜᴇʟs ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴀsᴛᴇʟʟ

ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴇʟs ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀs sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏs

_The bottom of the page is dominated by a large, complex drawing of a castle, with stick-figure people wandering the halls doing various things. Outside of the castle is a much larger stick-figure, representing the author, who is wearing a beaming smile and holding a strangely shaped blob that looks vaguely like a dragon._

Contents, II:

_A letter bearing the seal of the Font. It appears from the text that a page is missing._

To The Tathviel Family,

An outstanding sum of fifty silver Southern Imperial coins remains to be paid for this month for the care and upkeep of your daughter, Rathael Tathviel. Until the time as it has been paid, we must withhold the following:

\- Bi-monthly wellbeing summary

\- Report cards and lesson plans.

\- Certain privileges within the Font for your daughter (detailed on second page).

Please insert the requested funds into the purse provided with this letter. Because of consistent difficulties with payment in the past, the Font has chosen to provide your family with an easier, more accessible method to fulfill your payment: the provided purse is enchanted and will directly transport and tally coins inserted toward your balance. Best wishes,

Director of Familial Affairs, Brother Garm

Contents, III:

_A marriage certificate documenting the wedding between Sona Dewprism and Romiri Tathviel, Aesaelion’s parents. The city seal of Sindel’onac is stamped onto the page._

Contents, IV:

_A long-expired passport belonging to Romiri. It declares him a citizen of Kta-Karth, and describes him as a young elven man, with brown eyes and white hair. His ethnicity is listed as Delunth, a typo, and his birthday is listed only by the season – spring._

Contents, V:

_A death certificate for Romiri. He is listed only to have died of ‘natural dispositions.’ The year indicates he passed away when Aesaelion was an adolescent, and that his remains were interred at a cemetery at the Font; an invoice attached with a paperclip indicates his ashes were inserted into a vessel that would be secured to, and be one day engulfed by ‘Funerary Tree #367.’_

Contents, VI:

_A menu, creased and well-loved, for ‘Auntie Ylma’s.’ It seems to be for a restaurant that serves a few kinds of popular diner food, pizzas, and Delunthel-style specialty sausages._


	16. Aesaelion returns home upon the conclusion of a journey.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short story about Aesaelion speaking to an old friend, after he returns home in frustration and despair after receiving the unsettling revelation of a sister he never knew about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: the disabled main character faces a lot of thoughtless flack from his able-bodied friend, and they argue extensively.

“ _H_ ey, Aes! I heard you were back in town.. Some good news, I’m hoping? But listen – Glum told me you seemed really – hahah, glum, actually, when she saw you from her window – and she sent me over with some of those little dudes you like – you know, the ones that look like priest hats or something with the goo inside? The – Rali, reli-- that doesn’t matter. I have pastry, _things,_ and they’ve got your name all over them, so… so even if you don’t feel up to company, you could at _least_ open up your door for those, ‘cuz I mean, there’s no point in wasting perfectly g--”

Aesaelion pulled his front door open with a harsh wrench of the knob, which stuttered and jerked from his hand when it ran right into the chain lock. He could see a long sliver of his friend, same leather jacket, same wispy hair and sleepless eyes – and more freckles. “Sully,” he said, voice dull and buzzy from waking up with phlegm-laden lungs. “I’m really not in the mood.” As he had _tried_ to communicate prior to now by ignoring the previous fifteen minutes of knocking. By this point it could be called less ‘missing the hint,’ and more ‘active malfeasance.’

“That’s too bad, buddy! Because look at these lovely, glossy, absolutely delicious--” Sully held the open box up right into Aesaelion’s face, tilting it dangerously to squish in through the gap in the door, little pastry nuns sliding into each other – “Super – super cream filled, awesome, sugary, uhh-- guys! And they’re supposed to look like monks or something, right? And,” unbeknownst to Aesaelion, Sully had his foot in the door, a knobby hand holding onto the chain lock, “And, and, AND,” before you knew it, the chain lock was undone and Sully was all the way in his entry hall, crowding him backwards, hooking the door closed behind him with his shoe.

“Sully--- Sully-- _dammit, you dick!”_

Sully, with wild eyes and a toothsome grin that sang _can’t believe I actually pulled_ _that_ _off_ leaned his back fully against the door, holding his box of pastries up like a waiter waiting to deliver.

“Listen, you can sulk at home all you need, Aes, but we’re not letting you do it without sugar. And, ideally, without _talking_ to someone. You’ve been gone for four years, been _five_ months since the last letter, and buddy, that means you are _not_ creeping home under cover of night then sitting around alone about it.”

“So,” Sully said, plucking a nun out from among its cohort, “You can talk to me, your bestie-best-best friend, or to Glum, your best-bestie friend, or maybe to Ben or Ellie or _whoever_ _I don’t care_ it doesn’t matter that it be me, but. Like. If it is me, you know I’ll be fine just sitting around in your tiny kitchen playing crosswords for a million years until you’re ready. But you are _gonna--_ ”

A world-endingly-weary sigh was Aesaelion’s answer, and in the ensuing silence, Sully held the lone nun out to him. He took it.

Dark, matte icing. Generous smudged ruffles of buttercream. A behatted head on a wide, round body. He missed these things so much. He used to judge when he needed to finally go to the dentist by when these exact pastries, by this exact baker, made his teeth hurt too much to stand eating (a terrible strategy, by the by). Over the years, Glum had created a plethora of experiences, all sorts of tiny, nearly imperceptible differences in presentation, texture, and taste, in the sole medium of this: crowds of little sugar-dressed nuns, doled out to friends, sold to customers.

Religieuse, the cutest of all éclairs. They were her favorite to make and his favorite to eat. He learned to recognize within the Speech the shape of dear Glum’s name from one of these, staring at his so-called ‘victory treat’ at the tail-end of a miserable all nighter-- Suddenly, epiphany. The confusing yet familiar tangle of syllables he’d never been able to find any reference for in the literature, yet saw almost every day could only, of course, be Gosling “Glum” Mercure, his friend from the very first day he was allowed out on the block alone to go play.

“I have an older sister,” he told the nun. Sully was deathly quiet.

“My parents hid her from me. They hid her from everyone. She was sick like I’m sick when she was born, so they just… got rid of her. Dumped her at a monastery! Fwoom! Gone! In an instant, like, LIKE--”

He crammed the nun, messily, into his mouth, all in one go. To make some kind of statement or something. It was the worst idea, and the next few minutes of his life were spent choking down an overwhelming amount of poorly-chewed pastry. Blearily he realized Sully had gotten him a glass of water, which he sipped until the gluey ball of former nun could be broken down and swallowed. “Better?” Sully asked, when the glass was empty. “Yeah—yeagh,” was all Aesaelion could bring himself to say.

So they settled in his tiny years-neglected kitchen, he in his resting-while-cooking chair and Sully atop the bare counter, and waited on a kettle of water to warm up. Sully lit the stove with a match on his fourth try. “Where’d I leave that crossword,” he grumbled, patting everywhere in reach in a haphazard search, waiting to see if memory sparked from some motion, some random feeling of tracing cold stone with skin.

Aesaelion couldn’t recall where it was for the life of him either, but he didn’t have to remember. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brow, took a slow breath in through his nose – his left eye twinged, a little electric spark of a feeling. On the back of his eyelid he saw truth appear.

Phantom sigils appeared before him in the glowing dark, luminescent like coals, brighter the longer he paid them mind. Eyelids twitching, he canted his head to the side and thought...

And then knew. “Liquor cabinet, behind the whiskey.” Sully hopped off the counter and looked, hopping in place so he could see.

Aesaelion let himself have the cough he’d held in, sucking in too much cold, dusty air. Chagrin was coming to him slowly, as he observed more mindfully himself, and the state of his house. It was a wonder he hadn’t spent every minute wheezing. His hands were hurting from the lack of heat. In the fugue he’d wandered home in, he hadn’t even noticed how unwelcoming a state the house was.. he’d simply crawled into his quilts and screamed into the pillows until he fell asleep, curled up too tight.

“Yo, still got it! Thanks, Aes.” He pulled the yellowed crosswords booklet from its hiding spot, bottles clinking in his wake. With a flourish Sully produced a shiny pen from his jacket, and got cozy; one leg folded under him, the other dangling free. He started leafing through it, sporadic as usual in settling on which puzzle to pluck at. “So while that’s boiling, what’s your poison – tea, cocoa? Oooh, hey, and what’s the capitol of Laus’gahn?”

“It’s Sindel’onac, and it’s cheating if you just ask me for the answers. I want tea. Black tea. And another nun. Where’d you leave the box?”  
Before Aesaelion knew it, tea was steaming in a mug before him, and he had buttercream on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to put anyone off, you know,” he mumbled into his hands. Sully had moved to sit on the floor, right by his feet, head leaning softly against Aesaelion’s thigh. “I just wanted to go somewhere where I didn’t have to talk or think about anything. Where I wouldn’t have to barter or charm or wonder if someone was going to dole out some new awful secret about me I’d have to deal with… you know? I had hit my limit with all of it. And the only place like that was home.”

“That makes sense. You’ve done a lot of work on this place, to make it just yours… I remember when you first moved in.” So could Aesaelion, as clearly as he could see the mottled backs of his hands: Glum had shown up ecstatic at his mother’s house the week before, hair all fly-away loose in its bun and a comfy, flour-powdered work shirt on, saying there was a place on her street and he needed to get moving on it right away. The days following were a mad scramble-- made more complicated than it had to be, of course, by his mother bucking at the sudden reality of him moving out.

“It was a real sty,” Sully added.

“I was trying not to think about the resemblance between it then and now _,_ actually.” Sprouts in the windowsills, and tiles falling down from the roof like feathers from a nervous bird. “Why didn’t I make any arrangements before I left? Who even heard of such a – idiot, childish – cotton brained… _dipshit_ decision.”

“Hey!” Sully put his hand on his lap, and glared up at him. “That’s my friend you’re talking about. Lay off him, he was doing his best.”

“I guess.”

“And it’s embarrassing listening to you cuss.”

“I know better ones, but they’d make your brain bleed out your eyes and ears.”

“No-- for real? No, you’ve got to be… you’re full of it.” Sully squinted at him, at the sly, spreading smile on his face. “You’re… you’re not actually lying about that, are you?”

“And your nose, too.”

“Now I just can’t tell.” Sully let his head drop back to rest upon him. “That’s okay, though. You keep your sinister secrets.”

They spent the evening like that, chewing through Glum’s box of nuns, Aesaelion tentatively offering up another detail of his experiences, here and there, as he felt ready – until he had to switch from black tea to green, to chamomile and throat lozenge, because his shoulders were tight and knotted from sitting up and his eyelids were heavy. No one else could make a day vanish so quickly out from under him as Sully. Platonic soulmates, Aesaelion used to call it, until they stopped being able to spend so much time around each other and his goal of defying an early death came closer to fruition… as Sully’s faster-paced human-speed life took the natural course of change and evolution.

“I have a fiancé now,” Sully admitted, near the end of the night. “I kept worrying about how I’d tell you, what kind of paper I’d use for the letter or something, how to sign it in a way that wouldn’t be – I don’t know, a dick move -- but the longer we talked, the more that seemed silly.”

“That you have a fiancé?” Aesaelion joked, awkwardly, around the sudden lump in his throat.

“That I was scared, _j_ _ackass_.” Sully wasn’t looking at him. “I want to introduce you, but only when you’re ready for, like, being social-social. You’ll like him. He came in on the flotilla the year you left, so you guys could talk about what that’s like. I think he, uh… reads. You could talk about that, too.”

“I don’t think he reads like I read, Sully.”

“Nobody reads like you read, Aes. What I’m trying to say is – please, uh – I want you to give him a try? He’s going to be part of my life so he’s hopefully going to be part of yours, _forever._ Once you’ve done your.. your thing.”

“My thing,” he repeated dryly. “Ah, yes, my ‘not dying’ thing. If that’s even possible.”

“What are you doing right now, Aes? Are we having a conversation about this or am I patting your ass so that you’ll grant me the _favor_ of meeting my boyfriend?”

That stopped him cold. Before now, he had even been chiding himself in his head – Aesaelion, you’re so difficult, Aesaelion, why can’t you shut up and be helped, you see how much your friend cares for you? – but that did it. Hand taut on the edge of the counter, he rose to his feet quickly and promptly became lightheaded. “Sully, I-- eugh-- I don’t know what you’re doing, but I was just sitting at home having a nice sorry-for-myself for a while, minding my own business, and then you forced your way into my house to say you wanted to be _here_ for me. I got here this week! Monday night! I haven’t even had a single _week_ to myself, I haven’t – I haven’t even went grocery shopping yet!”

“I didn’t… I said it could be somebody else.” Sully was staring at him like he’d grown another head. “Sitting around isn’t going to--”

“I’m _tired,_ Sully! I just sat down! I’ve been out more than I ever have in my life, pushed my body harder than I’ve ever dared, and it’s piled up like a debt! Debt I don’t even know if I can pay.”

Aesaelion stopped to sniffle and gulp air through a taut throat, and noted that Sully’s surprise had morphed into a glowering frown. Such a pinched expression, like he’d smelled something foul… at the sight of it he laughed, briefly, bitterly, and found words already pouring out of him anew. His voice sounded like rocks.

“I’m not, I’m not magic. That’s the thing. I am probably the least magical person alive. Me, my life, all of it, what I am is _terminally mundane._ ”

“You don’t mean that, Aes. You don’t think of yourself like _that._ I’ve seen it.”

How classic. His words turned to a taut, airy rasp-- “Have you?” he asked. Oh, he was tired… all trace of sugar was long gone from his tongue, and all he could taste now was a cold breath of menthol and a faintness of chamomile. “Have you seen me be brave? Have you seen me be strong? Do you believe those to be qualities of my person, above all else?”

“Of course I think that, Aes, you’re all those things, you’re amazing. What are you trying to prove?”

“You’re wrong.” In that moment it felt like he’d never left at all, in the worst way he could imagine. Neither of them had changed or metamorphosed into anything more than they already were, and time had only become ever more finite… could he really defy fate, if he just got back home and already he and Sully were _once_ _again_ arguing about how disabled he was? And Sully, true to form, hadn’t even noticed! “I’m not brave, I’m not strong, I’m desperate and in pain. That’s it. Would you want to be called brave for eating breakfast? For putting on your shirt? What I need _isn’t_ another pep talk so I can fulfill your fantasy that I’m some dashing, dauntless hero!”

“...Well,” Sully said slowly. “Just like old times, I guess. Boy, I forgot how much you could really put the _ass_ in your name. I’m gonna...” he gestured fumblingly in a way not even Aesaelion in all of his knowledge could decipher, then sighed. “It wasn’t supposed to.. god! I didn’t mean for you to think all that shit! I just wanted you to know I still-- I still give a damn, you know?”

“Sully, that part was never under question. But sometimes that’s not all you need.”

Sully turned away from him and silently, loudly poured himself a cup of water. He took a big painful gulp, then gestured to Aesaelion questioningly with the pitcher. “No, thank you,” he answered. He waited in the terse, buzzing emptiness as Sully drank, thinking of worse days than this that he had done just the same.

“...Should I go?” Sully asked with his back to Aesaelion, who grimaced, trying hard not to bite his own lip. “I mean, if you want me to leave...”

“I DID want that, right before you forced your way into my company, mind you-- but that is not what I want _now_.” He rapped his fingers on the table, trying to distract himself enough not to soften the blunt point of what he needed most to say. “You don’t get to do that, Sully, you don’t get to push on me then run away once I start making points you don’t want to hear. I don’t need you to demonstrate how much you care about me, I--” he stopped for an instant, nearly losing all of his momentum, because his throat felt so tight and his body felt so clammy and cold, he wanted to lay down and drink water, to not feel on the verge of dizziness-- “I, I, I need you to understand how hard this has been. How hard it always is, but how much… how much more it was, this time.”

He thought of the letters he’d sent over the course of his journey, writing and writing, whether his hand hurt too much to do it or not – how he was only ever stopped when his mind itself wouldn’t cooperate, too fogged with pain and exhaustion to put the words into proper order. The countless crumpled sheets of smudged, precious, pricey paper, when he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, when his hand would quiver and jerk and ruin the lettering. The times when he’d look at it all and be certain it was too much to share, too much burden and pain to let his friends see and still keep them, and he would start all over again.

“I never want to be having these fights with you, ever, but if I don’t kick and fight and dig my nails into the ground, people take things from me I can’t actually give-- and that includes you. That includes anyone. You’re not special, in that regard, but it’s just-- it’s justthat I care enough to try and ask more of you than to get treated like that.”

Midway through, Sully had turned to actually start looking at him again. By the time he was finished, his friend looked almost tearful. Aesaelion braced for whatever would come out of his mouth right off when he finished.. but the seconds counted up, and Sully stayed quiet and contrite.

“I, ah… that’s it. That’s all I really have to say, Sully.”

“Oh,” Sully said. “Well.. I mean. You’ve said stuff like this.. yeah. You’ve said.. you know, that it’s hard, and I do get it… but I get so scared that if nobody’s around saying you can do it, uh...”

Aesaelion laughed. “You think I’m not stubborn enough before you get there? I ask you, Sully. When have you known me not to be hard-headed?”

“..You don’t have to say that about yourself, Aes. What I said earlier… Listen.” Sully sniffled once. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Um. Could I have some of that water, actually?”

Aesaelion nursed his cup of water for a while, the both of them quietly easing back into conversation, stepping lightly around the tender spots, but speaking with more earnesty than before. Finally, Aesaelion decided to revisit a matter that had been left unfulfilled:

“I want to see who he is for myself. I mean, if you’re marrying him… he’s got to really be something, right?” Sully looked up at him, surprised, before Aesaelion went on. “..Your fiance, I mean. If that’s still on the table.”

“Course it is!” Sully’s voice was more chipper than he’d heard it all night. “Heheh! Yeah-- yeah, he really is! He’s great, you’ll see. And, um, you know, you know I’d love to meet your sister. You said her name was – sorry, I missed it. But we can invite her!”

His sister. Hoo, boy. Aesaelion pinched the edge of his brow, tugging on the meat enough to induce a dull pain. He could feel a little knot of scar tissue bobbing around, where he used to have an eyebrow piercing he’d given up on a decade ago.

“She’s not interested in getting to know me.”

Sully went still, and Aesaelion closed his eyes tightly, mourning the brief, bygone time of peace. The tea in front of him was half-full, and long gone cold. “What?” he said, then repeated louder-- _“What?!”_

“She isn’t interested,” he said, voice deceptively light. “She doesn’t want anything to do with any Tathviels.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s her decision to make.”

“ _No,_ that’s bullshit and you know it – this isn’t just about you and her and your parents or – listen, of course you’re not your parents, you don’t deserve to be – you’re _dying_ and she can’t give you the time of day?!”

Aesaelion listened silently as Sully went on and on in a similar vein, as if channeling all of his former self-reproach and his ire with Aes himself into the absent target of Miss Mean Evil Sister until finally, he’d had enough. “Stop. Stop. Stop. Listen, I really am not mad about this. It’s not up to me. Of course I wish she’d talk with me more, but...”

“So… that’s it? Close the book, bye-bye big sis?” Sully’s shoulders were bunched up, and he was leaning forward over his knees-- his eyes were wide and wild. “Come on. That’s even more bullshit. Don’t just give up.”

“...What?” He felt heat rising in his face. Good grief, he did not want to do a round two.

“The biggest lead you ever got in four years, and you’re just gonna give up because someone doesn’t know how to put on her grown up britches and have a conversation. Aes, you’re quitting too damn fast. At least send her letters while you’re here at home, dude. She can burn them if she wants, but you can’t throw your hands up and stop, that’s stupid! Don’t be stupid!”

“...Do you remember everything I said about how hard everything is, right now?” At this point, all Aesaelion could do was nervously smile. “I don’t even want to think about that problem until I’ve slept about thirty more hours, let alone put pen to paper. Listen, I’m sure I can..I can go grind my fingers down to nubs a little more later, Sully, but.. how many times do you have to tell you I’m _too tired_ right now _?”_

“I… Okay. Okay.” Sully leaned back again, frowning, his eyebrows knit into sign of concern anybody could read. “..Glum told me to tell her how you were, by the way. What should I say? Um... ‘Exhausted beyond all measure?’”

Aesaelion wheeze-laughed. “Please, yes. And— hee! Hee! Tell her I’d love to see her, too, but… late afternoon at the soonest. Absolute soonest. And maybe you can bring around lover-boy in a couple of days, but of course I need time to catch up with Glum… you know what you could do for me, Sully.” Sully immediately looked more hopeful. “Find my old apothecary. His card is there, stuck to the ice box. And.. make sure mother doesn’t find out I’m here yet. And with that.. I need to get to bed.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n!” Sully rocketed up to his feet, and then suddenly swooped Aesaelion’s bony body into a warm hug – and a gentle one. He smelled like city life, tobacco and river water. Startled, but welcome to the gesture, Aesaelion drifted his eyes closed, simply wanting to take it in...

...By the morrow, he found out he fell asleep right there, in his friend’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story's about how you can't love your friends better, and how what you need to do is actually listen to them. sully isn't there yet, but i want to try and write an arc where that happens.


	17. collected correspondence between Sister Rathael and Speaker Tathviel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brother and sister playing letter tag. i'll write more of these.

[(theme: Beetroot Kvass)](https://youtu.be/Yeb55a5PBYs)

Tathviel,

Do not assume the seal on this letter means you’ve garnered any favor with the Fount, whether by that sad showing those months past, nor by the meaningless occurrence of our shared surname. It is there only as a formality; all outgoing post from the Fount is branded so.

It is clear to me you have met with no success on your fool’s errand so far. The curse still sears up from beneath my skin, as it always has. Have you begun to feel it yet? Or does your borrowed clock still tick?

Understand: I do not relish the fate in store for you. It is a terrible birthright, forced on you by the selfishness of others. It is a punishment that does not discern between the truly innocent and the guilty when meted out. But what you strive for is folly. There are whispers of those who have walked your path before, Tathviel – and they are not kind whispers.

Your cause is not as noble as you dream it.

R

Sister Rathael:

Your letter reached me the night before I was to leave Whyteport, after three weeks spent there – a clever courier indeed, to be able to find someone with no current permanent residence! I don’t mind it, but it was curious, indeed. Curious, and surely expensive?

Whyteport I admit has been frustrating. Delay after delay in what I came here for, but it did work out in the end, after a fashion. I am making progress, though not in ways I can easily explain. Next I am bound to go southeast along the coast, to Saker Keep. Hopefully my visit there will go more smoothly than Whyteport.

The curse remains dormant within me. By my estimate, it will remain so for a handful of years to come. My fool’s errand has time left yet.

But certainly, I would like to know more of these whispers you have heard.

A. T.

Tathviel.

Did you think yourself a wit, calling me Sister? Unless you have plans on joining the order yourself: Don’t. If you are so inclined to use a title call me what I am – an acolyte, in case you’ve forgotten.

Being cryptic about your progress won’t convince me you’re making any. What does Whyteport mean to me, but a tiny blotch with a name beside it on a map? If you’re to brag on about these places, at least provide descriptions more enticing than “my time at this blotch was a bit annoying.” Even I can give more flavor than that. Here. I’ll try.

I went up to the top of the northern spire, an hour before daylight. There I waited, buffeted by the wind, and watched the splendor of sunrise spread across the sky. In the sleepy calm of midday I spent an hour beating the filth out of rugs, until motes of dust danced through the still air like a swarm of insects. In the evening I drank of the Fount’s healing waters under the watchful eye of Sister Aegharthus, who has made something of a pet project of me – she studies the nature of the Fount’s power, and by virtue of my body’s state draws forth new theorems. In the night I began writing a letter to a stubborn man who’s bound to make a tragedy of himself.

If this letter meets you still at Saker Keep, give my regards to Brother Dreir. Don’t misrepresent yourself – we are little to one another save brethren in malady. Show him this letter, if you must. Otherwise he is likely to dismiss you out of hand, out of some sad sense of honor to me – O, how far the vaunted name Tathviel can carry you!

– Rathael

  
Acolyte Rathael, 

Thank you. Talk with Dreir was deeply illuminating. Longer letter to follow. Leaving Saker with haste.

– A. T.

Tathviel,

Your longer letter never came. Offer me an answer.

Rathael

Tathviel.

I have reason to believe several of your previous letters came to be intercepted, possibly destroyed. I have taken measures to ensure it will not happen again. Please fill me in on what I have been left in the dark about to the best of your ability. The last letter I received, you had spoken to Dreir.

Rathael


End file.
